England sweep up the Ashes of defeat.

England sweep up the Ashes of defeat.

Under a salmon coloured Adelaide sky, the English cricket team stared at well over 100 years of history between these two sworn sporting enemies and glowered at the Adelaide Oval as if it had committed some heinous crime. Those Aussies had got one over us again when it all looked like an English recovery from the jaws of defeat seemed a distinct possibility. But the air was sucked from England and Australia had won the Second Ashes Test match by 120 runs which for those among the Barmy Army really did hurt and felt vaguely like an insult.

So far this Ashes series has conformed to all of those familiar stereotypes. The English love nothing better than a good old fashioned Sunday roast in the local public house and Australia love thrashing England at cricket with just a pint of Foster's best to wash things down. Whenever these two nations lock horns with each other there is more than a hint of bullish belligerence in the air. In fact you can almost smell the smoke and cordite such is the hatred and antipathy between Australia and England.

A couple of years ago England brought back the Ashes to Blighty and all in the world seemed fitting and right. That little urn belongs in England and here at Lords, cricket's spiritual home, that little urn seemed so snug and justifiably ours. Now two years later and it all looks as though the balance of power has swung back to the Antipodes. How on earth are we going to stand the gloating, boasting and self righteousness of the Aussies if they actually grab back the Ashes this winter. We shall probably stop drinking their Foster's lager, stop watching those TV programmes about wombats and kangaroos and, quite possibly sulk. But that would be childish so we won't do that.

Even so the bare facts are that England were well and truly beaten, hammered into the ground, thumped and just a little humiliated in the hot winter sunshine of an Adelaide evening. This was one of the first night and day cricketing Tests, a new fangled innovation, the brainchild of somebody who obviously felt the game of cricket needed a bit of spicing up. The floodlights were blazing and England began to melt under those intense lights.

Australia beat England by 120 runs and the whole Ashes series hangs by the tenderest thread. Can England show the traditional fighting spirit they've always shown or will the Aussies give us another severe battering? It is some time since England were allowed bragging rights in this most personal of grudge matches and Australia may be licking their lips at the prospect at yet another whitewash Down Under.

Still there were major plusses and consolation points to be derived from England's second successive defeat. Jimmy Anderson sliced open the Australian batting attack with the most delicious five wicket plunder, a quickie supreme who must have been baying for Australian blood. Sadly, this will never be considered as cold comfort because once again England were left high and dry without a friend to call on.

Steve Smith, an Australian batsman of cruel and destructive batting power, slogged, hooked and pulled his shots to all sides of Adelaide and some of his shots were straight out of the classical repertoire. By the time Smith had notched up his century, England were wilting like one of Dame Edna Everage's gladioli. Some of Smith's big hits may well have cleared Adelaide completely and reached Sydney harbour.

It is at time like this that an English cricketing fan turns to the past and a trip down memory lane. Jimmy Anderson's five wicket haul could, quite reasonably be compared to one Sir Ian Botham for whom 1981 was the one year some of us will never ever forget. Botham terrorised, taunted, mocked and seemingly lampooned Australian cricket. Throughout the whole of that 1981 epic Botham seemed to take an almost sadistic pleasure in the Aussie downfall.

In fact some of us were positively spellbound by the one man bowling who drove a powerful stake into the heart of Australian cricket. Who could possibly have forgotten Botham at his breathtaking best, a whirling dervish, a bearded, thick thighed swashbuckling hero of the hour. All of us will remember this bloodthirsty, brave, hungry, merciless man who swung the ball both ways, dug the ball deep into the respective rib cages of helpless Aussie batsman and roared with delight when the wickets went flying.

Botham had perfect line and length, seething with boundless anger and hostility, not quite possessed but the fire in his eyes burnt through his Australian counterparts. At the end of a Botham over there was something of the wide eyed sadist about him. At the end of an over Botham would spend the best part of five minutes fist pumping in celebration, face grinning with ecstasy and privately sticking the proverbial two fingers up at the Aussies.

It was at Headingley, home of Yorkshire cricket club where England salvaged a sinking ship and launched the greatest sporting comeback since the last sporting comeback. It was 36 years ago when England stood on the precipice of certain defeat once again. Australia were poised to stab a red hot poker into the back of  English cricket. England were staring over the cliff face and another Ashes defeat when a Somerset tornado whipped through an Australian batting attack including one Alan Border, Rodney Marsh a wicket keeper par excellence with a striking moustache, Rick McCosker and Trevor Chappell.

England of course were not exactly short of their all conquering battlers and toilers, seasoned troopers with a scent of victory under their noses. There was the professorial and deep thinking England captain Mike Brearley, a Middlesex man through and through, a wily strategist, plotter and planner who almost seemed to read the minds of the Aussie batsman. Brearley was an inspirational cricketer and captain, a cricketer of foresight and vision, splendidly idealistic and forever in deep discussion with Botham or the rest of the England team.

Then there was David Gower, brilliantly adventurous with the bat but prone to a recklessness outside off stump that almost certainly marked him as an Australian favourite. Gower was forever wafting his bat in the air at shots that were simply not intended to be hit. But Gower hooked quite immaculately and many was the four and six that would invariably land in either the Lords Tavern or the Oval gas holder.

And then there was English cricket's favourite cover point fielder and batsman of the highest order Derek Randall. Randall had the longest legs in English cricket and was never happier than when he was loping across a cricket ground, picking up that red ball with uplifting efficiency and then throwing the ball back quite promptly to the hankie fluttering wicket keeper Alan Knott. Knott of course propped up many a creaking England innings with the most valuable of half century or indeed century.

So it is that we return to that unforgettable heady Headingley Ashes Test. With the match all but sewn up Botham came striding out to bat. For what seemed an interminable length of time, Botham now took up his position at the crease, sneering contemptuously at the Aussies and challenging his adversaries to the kind of dashing swordplay that even D'Artagnan would have envied. Bat swinging wildly and seriously, a face of beetroot red and a body bursting at the seams with raw aggression, Botham blasted the Aussie front line quickies of Dennis Lillee and Terry Alderman into another English county.

Botham hooked, drove and pulled quite magnificently and daringly. From the pit of despair Botham carved his name into English cricketing history. The century came in an almost royal procession, big hitting Botham smashing and lofting the ball over every English cricket pavilion in the land. Botham was an irresistible force of nature, looting and pillaging Lillee and Alderman's bowling before anybody could bat an eye lid.

But the one memory that always live with me personally was the sterling contribution of one Bob Willis. Now here was a man who would have been more than content to give blood, sweat and tears to the national cause. Bob Willis played his club cricket for Warwickshire and he did so quite conscientiously but when selected for his country Willis was devotion to duty. There was something about Willis that summer that was determined to make a point.

At Headingley Willis, afro hair flying hectically in the wind, charged down towards the batting crease rather like the Flying Scotsman. Shirt and pullover heavy with sweat, Willis, face twisted and grimacing, wound himself like a clock and hurled a cricket ball at a batsman like the naughtiest kid at the back of the class with a catapult. But there was one part of the Willis dress code that always seemed unusual.

For whatever reason the flapping and billowing Willis shirt would also have a vest as well. Many a hundred an over Willis would wear the most sartorially correct of stringed vests. Willis was wearing quite possibly a Marks and Spencer stringed vest, beads of sweat clinging to his chest and hair bouncing on his head with a life form of its own. But I take my cricketing hat off to Bob Willis because he was whole hearted, lion hearted, gritty, determined, direct and dogged.

When Willis bowled one of the last decisive overs in that Headingley humdinger, Willis seemed to take off rather like the swiftest of planes. Arms flailing all over the place, the Willis did a very passable impersonation of an Easy Jet plane. Then both he and Botham suddenly remembered the magnitude of their achievement. Both Botham and Willis pulled up the stumps rapidly and in no time at all were next seen sprinting back to their dressing rooms as if slightly wary of being trampled on by jubilant fans. England had snatched back the Ashes for the first time in what seemed like ages.

Now of course though the pulse of Australian cricket is throbbing quite powerfully and there is another Aussie resurgence in the air. England, at the moment at least, haven't got quite the hang of this winter touring lark Down Under. True they did beat their famous Antipodean rivals a couple of winters ago in the land of Oz but for now these two furious foes will have to be held back.

After another tiring day in the field for Joe Root we were once again witnesses to that legendary, almost life long resentment and bitterness between England and Australia. Root was seen, quite noticeably, exchanging what looked like some very salty words with the Aussies. The conversation seemed to be far from amiable and it was safe to assume that  Root wasn't swapping e-mail addresses with the Aussies. The stares and glares told their very own body language.

So there you have it. Another Ashes battle royale has passed into the history and this promises to be another another blood and thunder contest simply not designed for the faint hearted. But we wouldn't really have it any other way. England are two down with the third Test boiling away on the stove like the hottest of soups. Sporting contests do not come any fiercer than an Ashes ding dong. It was always tough for England Down Under and it may get considerably tougher. Strap yourself in everybody. It could be a deeply emotional roller coaster. Hold on tight.